


Lights Out

by TheLoneReader



Series: Five Hundred Friday [2]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Doubles Final, Fedal - Freeform, Feels, M/M, Olympics, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneReader/pseuds/TheLoneReader
Summary: It cannot be true, can it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, 2nd Friday in a row! Enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> Usual disclaimer : This is a fictional work that has no basis in reality. No disrespect is intended to anyone.

Roger swore under his breath as his shot ended up in the net. Love-Thirty.

‘C’est bon, Rog. Le prochain c’est pour nous! Aller!’ Stan exclaimed as he bumped their fists together.

The younger Swiss was doing his best to placate him and send him good vibes despite the tense match. Roger appreciated the effort, but for some reason he was unable to keep his head in the game. Now was not the time. Not at 3-3 in the 3rd.

‘Come on, get it together!’ he thought to himself, his frustration raising. It was an Olympic Final for God’s sake, not some kind of exhibition match! He crossed to the deuce side of the court and bounced a ball a couple of times. On the other side of the net, Marc Lopez braced himself for the Fed’s serve, Rafa on the periphery of his field of view. Roger tossed the ball high in the air, but whatever he tried, nothing seemed to work, and a few minutes later, the Spaniards took the break. Stan’s words of encouragement kept him from losing himself in his own head during the change of side after this, and his level raised somewhat, but not enough to break back. He felt drained, both mentally and physically, as he took his position behind the baseline to face a first match point. He saw Rafa’s ball racing towards him, then past him, catching on a millimetre of white line on its way. An ace. A freaking ace. He felt a huge weight fall on his shoulders. Just like that, everything was over. Stan came to him, clasping his arm.

‘It was a good fight. And it’s still Silver…’

Roger shook his head. He was so disappointed in himself, couldn’t stop feeling guilty for his loss of concentration. He gritted his teeth as his two opponents jumped around, celebrating and hugging each other. A feeling of unease crept into him when he saw Rafa wrap his arms around Marc from behind, his chest to the smaller man’s back, before placing a kiss on his neck. Roger took a sharp breath, and came closer to the net.

‘Raf?’ he called.

But his boyfriend ignored him, wrapped up in Lopez. The latter turned into his embrace, sliding his hands on his partner’s waist. The next second, the two Spaniards were kissing passionately, lips pressed together, tongues fighting for dominance as hands roamed each other’s body.

‘No!’ Roger let out in a strangled cry.

He felt the little energy he still had leave his body. He would have fallen to the ground if Stan had not caught him. He was frozen into place. Everything seemed to slow down around him, the sound coming to his ears in a distorted way, as if he was underwater.

‘Roger?’ Stan’s voice was calling urgently, sounding as if it came from a long, long way. ‘Roger? Roger.’

 

‘Roger, Roger, ROGER!’

 

The Swiss woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. As he turned his head, he was faced with Rafa’s worried face, hovering next to him.

‘You ok? You were calling me, you cry in your sleep!’

‘Wh-What? Where, where are we? Where’s Lopez?’ Roger stuttered, still shaking.

Rafa frowned, and reached a hand out to smooth his boyfriend’s hair.

‘Shhh, is ok. We are home Rogelio. Is ok.’ He grabbed the other’s hand and dropped a kiss on it. ‘Is just a bad dream.’

Roger nodded weakly.

‘You want to talk?’

‘No, I… Just hold me ok?’

‘Of course.’

The younger man gathered his lover in his arms, laying the damp head against the soft material of his shirt. He placed little kisses on his temple, nuzzling his forehead. Roger closed his eyes, the warmth of Rafa and the whispered ‘Te amo’ in his ear chasing away the last memories of his nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it guys! Perhaps a bit less fluffy than I usually write, I was in a kinda darker mood this week. Hope you still liked it.
> 
> And yes, this was absolutely inspired by the actual kiss on the neck the actual Rafa actually gave Marc during the actual Olympics this summer. I'm still not over it. 
> 
> The title is because Nirvana's Smells like teen spirit popped up on my phone this morning on my way to work, and somehow it stuck. 
> 
>  
> 
> As usual, comments are more than welcome, I love hearing your opinions :)


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